Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
Luna
The cold air bites at my cheeks as I climb out of my truck outside Hansen’s General Store, my boots crunching on the thin layer of snow that accumulated overnight.
Not much—maybe an inch—but enough to make the roads treacherous and coat the sidewalks in a slick, dangerous sheen.
Thanksgiving is less than a week away, and winter is still a month away, but it already feels like it, with snow coming at least a couple of days a week now.
I slip as I step away from the truck, catching myself on the door handle.
She feels like she’s on her last legs, and I suspect I’m going to have to get a new one in the spring.
But I can’t bring myself to let her go. She was Grandpa’s truck and is the last real tangible thing I have of him, aside from the sanctuary.
As I close the door, that familiar prickle of awareness, the one I’m so used to now that it’s stopped bothering me most of the time, crawls up my spine.
I’m being watched.
Damn it, wolf! Can’t you just stop being a creep?
I pause, scanning the street. My eyes sweep across the snow-dusted buildings, the parked cars, and the bare winter trees lining Main Street. Nothing moves except the occasional snowflake drifting from the gray sky above.
I shake my head and trudge toward the store entrance as I swallow back a yawn.
The exhaustion that’s now a constant companion refuses to lift.
Besides my wolf’s nightly visits, my bladder has decided sleep is overrated, dragging me out of bed multiple times a night to pee.
I’d been sure another UTI was brewing, but the test came back clean. No infection.
My muscles ache from last night and this morning’s work. A coyote with a mangled paw needed surgery, and I spent hours hunched over the surgical table. Though exhausted, I’m happy knowing he won’t lose it as long as I can keep any infection at bay.
I push through the heavy glass door to the store, the familiar chime announcing my arrival.
The warmth envelops me, along with the comforting scent of coffee and the faint mustiness of old wooden shelves that have stood here since before I was born.
I stomp my boots on the worn mat, shaking off the snow.
“Luna!” Betty Hansen looks up from behind the counter, her silver hair catching the overhead lights. “Those medical supplies you ordered came in yesterday. Let me grab them for you.”
“Thanks, Betty.” I unwrap my scarf and unzip my coat, grateful for the heat coming from the old radiators along the walls.
She disappears into the back room, and I make my way to the counter, passing shelves stocked with everything from canned goods to fishing tackle. This place tries to be everything to everyone in our small town, and somehow it manages. Most of the time.
I stare out the front window at Main Street. All of downtown Aspen Ridge stretches before me—the post office next door, Nancy’s Diner with its faded red awning, the library across the street, and the gas station on the corner. That’s it. The entirety of our bustling metropolis.
There’s something about the simplicity of it that I love. There aren’t many places like this anymore that haven’t died off due to the growth of the surrounding cities.
“Luna, honey!”
I turn to see Eleanor and Frank pushing through the front door, Eleanor’s rhinestone glasses glinting under the fluorescent lights as she navigates the slippery threshold.
“Hi, Eleanor. Hi, Frank.” I wave as they bring another gust of cold air that makes the door chimes dance.
Frank catches Eleanor’s elbow as she almost loses her footing on a patch of slush tracked in by previous customers. Probably me.
“Careful there.” He steadies her.
“We were finishing lunch at Nancy’s when we saw your truck pull up.
” Eleanor bustles over with that purposeful energy she’s famous for, brushing snow from her wool coat.
“How are you? Haven’t seen you in town much.
” She gives me a once-over, her sharp eyes cataloging every detail, though I see the concern in them.
“You look all healed up from your run-in with your bear, thank goodness.”
I give her a reassuring smile. “It was over a month ago now. And I’m good. All healed up.”
Eleanor’s expression shifts, becoming more serious as she glances around the store, then leans closer. “I’m glad we ran into you, honey, because I owe you an apology.”
“What for?”
Frank moves to browse the hardware section, giving us women our space to talk, but I catch him listening from the corner of my eye.
“That ex of yours—Caleb—came into the post office a few weeks ago, slithering around like the snake he is.” Eleanor’s mouth purses with distaste.
“I told him to get lost and leave you alone because you had a new beau. I mentioned Damien Wolfe.” She wrings her hands, her usual confidence wavering.
“But then Maren told me he went to your place and threatened you. I’m so sorry if I caused any trouble. ”
I’d rather forget Caleb and his visit, especially since I still haven’t heard from Karen about those flowers, and it’s been almost two weeks. My lips curve into a forced smile. “Eleanor, it’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
“But if I hadn’t opened my big mouth—”
“Caleb would’ve come by, regardless. It had nothing to do with your mentioning Damien. Besides, Damien showed up and threw him out on his ass.”
Frank snorts from the hardware aisle. “Wish I could’ve seen that.”
“You and Maren both.” I chuckle as he peeks around the endcap and gives me a thumbs-up.
Ever since Maren’s comment, I can’t help but see the old man from UP every time I look at him.
“How’s that security system working out? The one Damien installed for you?” Eleanor asks.
“It’s been a lifesaver. I caught a poacher trying to get into the wolf enclosure last week.”
“No!” Eleanor’s hand flies to her chest. “What happened?”
“Found himself staring down the barrel of my shotgun until Karen arrived.” I’m unable to keep the hint of satisfaction from my voice. “He wasn’t so tough then.”
Frank chuckles, abandoning his perusal of screws and bolts to rejoin us. “That’ll teach ’em to mess with Luna Foster. Bet he pissed himself.”
“Frank!” Eleanor swats at him. “Language.”
I can’t help but smile at their familiar banter. They’ve been married for fifty-four years and still act like newlyweds half the time.
“Maren mentioned something about a fancy Denver gala you attended with Damien, too.” I can already see where this is heading. Maren needs to learn to keep her trap shut. She’s becoming more of a gossip than Eleanor.
“Yes. It was lovely. He raised over ten million dollars for his foundation.”
“So are you two seeing each other?” Eleanor prods with the tenacity of a bloodhound.
The door chimes again, and Karen steps inside, stomping snow off her boots. Saved by the bell.
“Luna!” She zeroes in on me before the door closes behind her. “I saw your truck outside. I was planning to stop by the sanctuary later.” She smiles at Eleanor and Frank. “Afternoon, Eleanor. Frank.”
This is about the flowers. It has to be. I keep my expression neutral, but my fingers curl into my palms. Betty emerges from the back room at that moment, the box of medical supplies in her arms.
“Here we are, dear.” Her gaze lands on Karen. “Sheriff Mills! How are you?”
“Doing well, Betty.” Karen’s smile appears on cue, then her eyes drift back to me. “Mind if I borrow you for a minute, Luna?”
Betty sets the box on the counter. “I’ll just ring these up when you’re ready.”
Eleanor clears her throat. “We should get back to the post office, Frank. The afternoon mail won’t sort itself.”
“Of course,” he replies with an obedient nod.
The door chimes as they leave, bringing in another gust of cold air that makes me shiver despite my coat.
I turn my attention back to Karen. “Did you find out who bought the flowers?”
She sighs, and the lines around her mouth deepen. “No. But we did find the delivery kid. Even though he removed his plates, we got a hit on facial rec from your camera footage.”
“What did he say? Who is he?”
“Just some local kid from Denver. Said a man offered him five hundred dollars to drive his father’s van, remove its license plates, and deliver the box to you.”
“What did the man look like?”
Karen leans against the counter beside me, drumming her fingers against it. “Same description as the girl at the flower shop. Sunglasses, baseball cap, no remarkable or memorable physical characteristics.”
“So you have nothing?”
“Unfortunately, no.” She glances over at Betty, who’s making a show of organizing receipts behind the register, trying to give us the appearance of privacy while still being close enough to eavesdrop. Karen lowers her voice and leans closer. “I did seek out Caleb, though, and I couldn’t find him.”
A knot forms in my belly. “What do you mean you couldn’t find him?”
“He’s got an address in Boulder, an apartment, but it doesn’t appear he’s staying there. I spoke to his parents, and they said he’s out of town on business and has been for months, including the date of your flower delivery.”
“Business? I thought he was unemployed.”
“Apparently, he works for his father in some capacity.” Karen pauses, and I can see her debating how much to tell me. “The state suspended Caleb’s law license.”
“I didn’t know that. Because of the restraining order?”
No wonder he’s so angry.
“Not necessarily. I contacted the Colorado State Bar, but they said the records are sealed and inaccessible without a court order.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“No. But I have no justification for getting one. Or to subpoena his phone records, and with his parents’ statements, it’s a dead end.” I hear the frustration in her voice.
“Was that blood on the flowers?”
“Yes. Animal blood.”
Heartbreak and grief hit me at once, knocking the air from my lungs.
My throat closes as images flood my mind of some innocent animal terrified, in pain, and bleeding for this monster’s twisted message.
I swallow hard against the sob that wants to break free.
The cruelty of it, the senseless waste, makes me want to curl up and weep until there’s nothing left inside me.
“I know I keep asking every time I see you, but do you still feel anyone watching you?”
Just my wolf, but his presence comforts rather than frightens me now.
“Not since the night Caleb came by.”
“What about Damien Wolfe?”
“What about him?”
“I heard you attended some fancy gala in Denver with him.”
Jesus. Small-town gossip is a real pain in the ass sometimes.
“Yes. We’ve been dating casually.”
Karen nods, and I see some of the tension leave her shoulders.
“Just stay aware and report anything unusual. I promised your grandfather I’d look after you when he was gone.”
The mention of Grandpa opens a dull wound in my chest. Two days ago was the sixth anniversary of his death.
I spent it the same way I always do. Shadow and I hiked up to Triangle Mountain, one of his favorite places in the world.
That’s where I scattered his ashes, and every year since, we make the trek back.
It’s a three-hour round-trip hike under normal conditions, but this year the falling snow added another forty minutes to our time.
Maren worries when I go up there in winter conditions, convinced I’ll slip on ice or get caught in a storm, but being on that mountain makes me feel connected to him again.
My throat closes, and I have to force it open before words will come. “I know. I appreciate everything you do, Karen.”
She heads for the door, then pauses with her hand on the handle. “I’ll let you know if we come up with anything at all in the investigation. Be careful driving home—those roads are getting slick.”
After she leaves, I turn back to Betty. She’s fascinated by her computer screen, clicking through what looks like the same email over and over, but we both know she was listening.
Just as we both know that Eleanor will be privy to the details of my conversation with Karen by the end of the day.
I could ask Betty to keep this conversation private, but the request would be futile.
In Aspen Ridge, secrets have a half-life measured in hours, not days.
Betty chats about her granddaughter’s upcoming wedding while she rings everything up. I make appropriate responses, but my mind is elsewhere.
She hands me the box. “You take care, Luna.”
“I will. You too. Say hi to Harry for me.”
I pull my coat closed, steeling myself for the cold, before pushing through the doors. The snow has picked up, large flakes now drifting down from the darkening sky.
And the feeling hits me again, stronger than before. I pause beside my truck, box in hand, and scan the street. The sensation ripples along my skin like electricity, raising the fine hairs on my arms. But unlike earlier, this feels different. Darker. More menacing.
Maybe it isn’t my wolf watching me.
No, it has to be. This is what he does, but uncertainty gnaws at me. The watching presence feels wrong in a way that makes my stomach clench with genuine fear instead of that twisted excitement I’ve grown accustomed to.
I fumble with my keys, dropping them once in my haste to get into the truck, and I curse under my breath. When I get the door open, I toss the box across the seat and climb inside as quickly as possible.
The engine turns over on the second try, and I waste no time pulling away from the curb. In my rearview mirror, Main Street looks the same as always. Quiet, peaceful, and covered in a light dusting of snow. But the feeling of being watched doesn’t fade until I’m well outside the town limits.